


Voice Messages

by lemoncitrus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Writing, Connor Deserves Happiness, Depression, Detroit, Don't Read This, F/M, Forgive me for writing this, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Oblivious Connor, Other, Reader is depressed, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Regret, Sad Ending, Suicide, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Triggers, Wine, connor does not get that happiness, connor has low software instability, connor is not deviant, hank is dead, im so sorry for this, literal trash, the end is so rushed, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 22:18:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncitrus/pseuds/lemoncitrus
Summary: Every failed mission, every replacement, Connor became more and more distant. Whats the point if seeing him at work anymore if all he does is brush you off?Drowning in a numbing emptiness, you refuse to go to work, and instead drink the world away in the comfort of your room-- but it gets hard to not think of Connor when he keeps leaving you voice messages(TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS AND STORY REVOLVING AROUND SUICIDE! DON'T READ IF IT MAKES YOU UPSET OR TRIGGERS ANY ANXIETY)





	Voice Messages

**Author's Note:**

> Again, as said in the summary, there is a TRIGGER WARNING, I don't want anyone upset or getting anxiety for reading this fic. Please read at your own discretion!
> 
> Also, the days I chose don't line up with actual events in game, but this is after Hank's suicide.
> 
> Please enjoy! This is my second piece of work ever!
> 
> (The prompt for this was "Write a story of only voice messages" but I had to include actions, aha)

**November 26th, Friday, 2038**

 

You’d seen Connor die in front of you again, probably around the 9th time since you’ve met him. It was hard to keep count of tragedy. You didn’t want to ever see him die, or break, ever since the first failed mission. But he came back-- came back the next day like nothing happened. Smiled, sat near you again and introduced himself, as if you didn’t see him brutally ripped apart the day before. You were so, so tired of it. It came to the point that working felt terrible, and seeing him everyday, a poison. Every time, it reminded you of your own deaths. Of family, of friends, none who you could get back. Connor suffocated you, without even knowing.

 

Hank killed himself recently, too. He left you a voicemail before he did. About Cole, about Connor. It had gotten to him as well, then. After falling into your own depression, Hank had given it a larger dent, but also something empowering-- He was free, he wasn’t hurting anymore. It seemed so… appealing. Dying, that is.  You didn’t want to do anything, nothing that involved leaving your room. Everything felt numb. And, it didn’t help when Connor began leaving voice messages himself.

 

**November 30th, Tuesday, 2038. 9:30 AM**

 

_Hello (Y/N), it’s me, Connor, model Rk800, from the Detroit Police Department. I’m calling to inquire about your unpaid or uninformed two day absence from the workforce. Without the Lieutenant, the team is struggling to continue working well. In case you show up tomorrow, let me brief you so you aren’t behind, as to not be in too much trouble with Captain Fowler. We had another mission with a deviant yesterday, and a slip up caused me to need another replacement. My memory was transferred again. Some things now, I do not remember, but all that matters is the case._

 

_The team is worried about you. I have been informed you were never one to skip work, no matter if you were injured. If I recall, last mission you went on, you hadn’t been hurt? I will check into some hospitals to see if you are there, though, but I pray that you aren’t. I know you were close with the Lieutenant, and I am willing to help you through this loss. Officer Reed is surprisingly very upset with this situation, and your absence is upsetting him more. He worries over your mental health._

 

_(Y/N), please call back the Detroit Police, we are awaiting your return. Have a nice day._

 

**November 30th, Tuesday, 2038. 4:52 PM**

 

One unread message. He wanted to help you through it? It’s like… like Connor doesn’t know its _his_ fault Hank is dead. He just made Hank remember Cole more and more, until he broke him. When you first met Connor, it was something similar to love at first sight. You were entranced by him. He was sweet and innocent, someone so hilarious to see paired with Hank. Meeting him had brought a new joy to your life, in a way. You were finally excited to leave your house again. But, then he died. And was repaired. He had forgotten your name the first time... and made a promise to never again. He kept true, and yet, every time he felt less and less human, and more… machine. A happy greeting in the morning became an acknowledgement of your presence. It was torture, to see him care less about you every failed mission.

 

**December 3rd, Friday, 2038. 9:30 AM**

 

_(Y/N), it has been 5 days since you have not shown for your assignments. Fowler is worried something happened to you. I had searched the city’s hospitals and none have claimed to ever have you registered in the past week. I had also checked most alleyways and gang hideouts to ensure you had not been jumped when returning home. Luckily, that was not the case. The last record of you was the taxi you took to work on Friday, November 26th. The Detroit Police’s androids confirmed you walked home. It only makes sense you remain at home, yet for reasons unknown. It’d be rude to barge into your house, but I have questioned the owner of your apartment building. He has not seen you in the past week-- Is everything okay?_

 

_Please call me back. The team needs you, (Y/N)._

 

**December 4th, Saturday, 2038. 2:32 AM**

 

Wine bottles had begun to stain your bed, the bottles littered around your room. Foregoing glasses, you had given up drinking properly, and began to chug from the bottle. The world was empty, numb, even being in it was beyond exhausting. A bottle of whiskey lay in your palm as you lied on the floor, leaning against your bed. Dried tears stained your cheeks, the soft weeps echoing from your eyes remain unheard and unseen. Misery hung in the air like a cloud, fogging your vision and inhibitions. Alcohol buzzed in your system, singeing your breath. You missed Hank. He could have been here, beside you, drinking and laughing as he complained about life. Now, you were alone in the world, drinking as if your life depended on it. In a way, it did. Drinking made you numb, made everything melt away as you went delirious. Sobriety seemed like a nightmare now, the fear of being awakened to the hell you’re in.

 

You felt bad, though, for Connor. His voice messages always began to feel warm as he left. It was relaxing to hear your name seep from his lips, desperate to hear it more. Nodding your head to the side, you replayed his message again, slapping your hand down on the unheard messages button of the house phone.. Fresh tears made their way from your eyes, a tight wrenching in your heart. It hurt to hear his voice. He didn’t remember much, didn’t remember you. You shouldn’t care. But you did. The automated tone asked if you wanted to reply, but you ignored it. With another swig of whiskey, you passed out.

 

**December 6th, Monday, 2038. 9:30 AM**

 

_(Y/N), Officer Reed told me you haven’t answered any of his calls since Friday, November 26th. We are overrun with cases without you. Your landlord informed me large orders of alcohol have been delivered to your door every two or so days that pass. You had never been known to be an alcoholic, and surely such large quantities aren’t good for your health. I hope you hear this message and take it to stop drinking. I know you were friends with the Lieutenant, an avid drinker himself, but it only damages your body. Humans are fragile creatures, and we worry for your safety._

 

_Captain Fowler has asked me to see if I could enter your apartment; however, the landlord denied me access. Fowler has also taken liberty to refrain from giving you referrals for this situation; He takes it that you need time alone after this tragedy. Although I do not feel emotion myself, I understand humans need and deserve breaks._

 

_Officer Reed has also begun to drink. I have found it in myself to hide his alcohol to ensure he does not further injure himself. He seems to be more… emotional, when intoxicated. I do not remember whether you two were close or not, but I believe without your presence, Reed is having a hard time. During one of his fits, or perhaps, his crying, I did catch your name on his lips._

 

_It made me feel… upset. Strangled._

 

_If that makes any sense, at least. Of course, I do not experience emotion. I assume my programming had ran into a small bug that induced said reaction. Yet, please see it that you contact Officer Reed soon, it appears he needs you as well._

 

_On other news, we encountered a successful mission. My body did not require any repairs, luckily. We had managed to apprehend another deviant, one near your area. It was the cause of multiple missing persons, all of which were found near its “base,” barely alive or mutilated beyond… living again. In these… mutilated person's, blood analysis confirmed none were you. Although I am sad we have not seen you, I am very happy to know you aren’t dead-- at least, that we know of._

 

_You’re… strong, though. You wouldn’t die on us._

 

_We need you, (Y/N). Call back soon._

 

**December 7th, Tuesday, 2038. 11:47 AM**

 

He didn’t die. That’s a first, isn’t it? You’ve never heard Connor get somewhat sentimental before. Strangled, huh, emotions too? Interesting.

 

You’ve known Reed longer than Hank, the two of you were best friends for awhile-- after you got over his douchey nature. But… you knew he was more soft around the heart, tender from unspoken words he never dared to tell. His concern for you… felt… warm, in a way. You didn’t want to concern him though, not now, and not later.

 

Food seemed a delicacy right about now. Your pantry had been depleted of stock day by day, losing all its contents about a couple days ago. You barely even knew what day it was, even better the date. The only depressing reminder of continued existence was the blinking alarm clock beside your bed, flicking its brazen display. It hurt, to stare at that miserable clock every single hour, every minute.

 

You smashed the clock against the wall, unplugging its electrical madness.

 

The drawer beside the bed revealed its insides, missing traces of dust, shaped like a gun. Bullets rolled around within.

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 9:30 AM**

 

_Many of our staff has come to terms that you will not return to work. I have checked your record and confirmed you have never taken a leave like this before. I have never known fear to be part of my programming, and yet, I know I am feeling fear for you. I’m not supposed to be scared-- I know I’m not. But… I am, and I hate it. I hate this feeling, feeling like something is wrong and I can’t fix it, even if I tried._

 

_I sense… something bad is going to happen._

 

_That's besides the point of my call though. Something about detailing in these messages makes me feel at ease. At the very least, it settles my nerves. Another completed mission, with mild repairs to my body, and no memory transfer. It’s odd, not being damaged recently-- I’ve… I guess, come to accept it, you know, being replaced. Something about you being gone must have had me working harder in your spot. Cyberlife has also told me, they are trying to dig up more of my memory in my previous models to help aid my mission. I am excited to see the bits and pieces my predecessors hold._

 

_Especially, I’m excited to remember things about you. At least, the memories that escaped my urgency folders._

 

_That is besides the point, though. After 9 days of absence, I have realized that perhaps I should stop messaging exclusively by the time work starts. From now on, I will make attempts to call around nighttime, too._

 

_I don’t know why I’m so concerned. You’re the strongest person I know… At least, that's what I believe. Something in me feels so hollow without seeing that smile you greeted me with everyday… I kept those memories the closest to me. I’d never want to forget your smile. It was angelic, to see the world around you light up without a care in your eyes, the way your voice lilted when you called out my name-- I… sorry. I don’t know what came over me… but…_

 

_You make me feel warm, (Y/N)._

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. XX:XX**

 

Click.

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 6:30 PM**

 

_This is my first time calling after work hours. I pray I do not interrupt anything you were doing around this time. I’ll keep this call short to avoid unnecessary issues in your evening. Around the middle of work, Cyberlife informed me my old memories will be inserted into me tomorrow morning. I’m just so excited to tell you these details, maybe when I see you again I can tell you everything I’d forgotten. Briefing you has become something to relax my senses and prepare me for the day._

 

_Please, sleep well, (Y/N)_

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. XX:XX**

 

A gunshot resounds in the empty apartment, sending chills through all the residents within. Your hand falls limply to the side.

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 10:47 PM**

 

_(Y/N), I was reported there was a gunshot in your apartment building. I-I checked the front of the building and ensured no one had entered, so no one from outside could be the cause. I hope you’re safe, please be safe… I don’t know what I’d do without you right now. I contacted Cyberlife and restored my memories early, and these memories of you are flooding my senses-- how I began to treat you like… like an inconvenience. Brushing off your greetings. I hate myself for that, I hate that I caused that beautiful smile to lose its glow. Every memory uploaded are just the things I want to forget. You stopped smiling. Something in me, it hurts, like… pain. I’m in so much pain. My systems are flooding with worry and panic._

 

_Please be alive._

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 11:09 PM**

 

_I’m sitting in the lobby of your apartment with Captain Fowler on another line. I’m requesting access to investigate. I need to see if you’re okay._

 

_I hate all these human emotions that are stirring in me. I’m… whenever I think about that smile you gave me, like no one else had, it hurts and makes me feel so happy at the same time. Is this normal?_

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 11:17 PM**

 

_My body is overheating and I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m so worried, and sick, and everything hurts and I just need you right now. I need you in my arms, wrapped around you tight and keeping you safe. I have to keep you safe. I think I’m going delirious._

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 11:23 PM**

 

_Please don’t be dead, don’t be dead, (Y/N). I don’t know what I’d do… I have to have you near me, something in me is aching for you. It’s been so long since I saw you._

 

_Please come back, come back, I need you back. I’ll never let you get hurt again, I’ll never hurt you again. I will never fail anymore missions, all I need is you, and I can perform my job perfectly._

 

_(Y/N)..._

 

**December 9th, Thursday, 2038. 11:42 PM**

 

_I have access to see your room. Wait for me. Please._

 

**December 10th, Friday, 2038. 12:03 PM**

 

Connor rushed through the apartment, scrambling up endless stairs in a trance. His mind swam with thoughts of you, your smile, your eyes, your utter perfection. He wanted to preserve it until the end of time. The only sound in the apartment hallways was the heavy beats of Connor’s steps, paired with his incessant mumblings, each including your name. As he neared your room, his senses picked up a trace of blood, the stench growing stronger as he stopped at your door.

 

LED glowing a terrified red, Connor knocked with apprehension tight in his hands. Did he want to see? What if you were… no-- you couldn’t be, he wouldn't allow it.

 

One knock. Two knocks. Three. Each met with deafening silence, tantalizing and cold.

 

“(Y/N),” Connor called out, unsure, “I’m sorry… for the breach of privacy…” His foot raised and kicked the door, forcing its hinges to break, swinging the door open. The stench of alcohol burned the room, cabinets raided with trash coating the floors. Connor’s eyes scanned the room, widening in fear. One room was slightly ajar, darker than the main, illuminated in the moon’s glow. All Connor’s systems prevented him from stepping to your apartment room, warnings flashing rudely in his vision.

 

Ignoring the sirens pounding in his ears, he shifted one foot into your apartment, a steady rhythm forming, the most beautiful symphony of fear. Arriving at your bedroom, his hand shakily moved for the knob, other clenching the hem of his jacket like his life depended on it. Slowly pushing the door, light began to filter in, glinting on broken bottles of alcohol that covered the rug. Your bed began to appear, unkempt with… a splatter of blood on the corner. _No._ You… you couldn’t have…

 

Shutting his eyes in anticipation, Connor swung the door open, hard enough that the knob lodged in the wall, echoing in distress. Lifting one eyelid into a squint, there lie you… dead. Your eyes were open, dull and lifeless. Blood oozed out from your skull, a gun resting on your palm. Connor dropped to his knees, falling in a puddle of blood. Crawling to your body, he pulled you into his grasp, holding you lightly as tears streamed down his cheeks.

 

“I love you… (Y/N).”

 

 

_~~One unread message.~~ _


End file.
